


The First To Believe Me

by Coffeebookboy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Asylum, Depression, Insanity, M/M, Other, Rated M for language and for future happenings, Trust Issues, false schizophrenia, not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2018-04-28 18:11:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5100644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffeebookboy/pseuds/Coffeebookboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is a mental hospital patient accused of talking to voices that don’t exist i.e. imaginary friends, suffers bipolar depression and non-violent schizophrenia. Francis is a male nurse working at the hospital and attending college, studying psychology and fashion design. Francis is responsible for giving Arthur his medications, and generally taking care of him during the day, therefore: he has to attend night school and is often tired. </p><p>In time, Francis may find Arthur isn't insane. Sometimes, the voices are real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of The End

 

Clicking.

 

Shuffling.

 

Breathing.

 

He began to tap his foot in order to break the silence.

 

Tapping.

 

Clicking.

 

Crying….

 

He was afraid, confused, alone. The man took a deep breath. _What am I doing here?_ He thought. _How could I have known what they would do?_ He wiped his eyes to prevent more tears from escaping and took a second shuddering gulp of air, forcing it down. 

_I’ve lost everything…_

 

He looked around for a window, remembering that there was none a second too late to stop the disappointment filling his gut. It was a pale eggshell white room, empty except for the bed he sat on and a chair in the corner. At least the ringing in his ears had stopped. Suddenly he heard a familiar voice. 

 

“What do you think they’ll do to you, Arthur? Do you think they’ll do tests?” His face twisted with rage and he turned to face the small creature floating above the bed. Flying Mint Bunny, he had dubbed it as a child, one of the many magical creatures who followed him around incessantly. As a child, he'd assumed they were products of his imagination, but they did seem to come and go as they pleased. As an adult they'd entrusted him with loads of information about themselves. Information he was still processing.

 

“You shut it, you bloody idiot! You’re the reason I’m in here in the first place!” The small creature visibly flinched, its voice reducing to a whisper.

 

“I was only trying to help. If they do tests it’ll be a good thing you know..”

 

“How on earth could tests be a good thing! I don’t want to be a guinea pig!” Arthur shivered at the thought of the doctors sending electrical shocks through his brain or asking him questions about his relationship with his parents. He had been an orphan raised illegally by his brothers, never knew his parents.

 

“If they do tests on your brain they’ll see you’re not crazy! Even if you act strange they can’t argue with numbers can they?”

 

Arthur pondered that.. _Can they?_ He knew that all the time sane people we’re put into asylums and became insane from the conditions. He was grateful that for today at least, he didn’t have to interact with other patients. _Who knows what sorts of people I’ll be bunched up with…_

 

Suddenly the silence was disturbed and Flying Mint Bunny vanished.

 

In walked a man in khaki’s and a checkered sweater, holding a clipboard and a glass of water. Arthur didn’t look up from the ground, all he saw were leather shoes and the stranger pulling the chair closer to sit down. A soft voice sounded from the intruder, a strong accent evident.

 

“Mr. Arthur Kirkland?” There was no response and the man hesitated.

 

“I thought you might be thirsty.” French. He was French. Arthur finally looked up at the glass offered to him and mumbled a thank you. After taking a few sips he chuckled. “Although I’d prefer a nice cup of tea.” He responded, looking into the glass quietly. The other man cleared his throat and began flipping through papers on the clipboard, crossing one leg over the other casually.

 

“Well um.. I see here you suffer from bipolar depression.. I don’t see that as grounds for you to be in _here_ …” He put an emphasis on the word ‘here’ as if he too felt trapped.

 

Arthur sighed. “They think I’ve got voices in my head.” He tapped his temple to emphasize.

 

“Voices?”

 

“Schizophrenia I suppose…”

 

“And eh… who thinks you have voices in your head.”

 

“The doctors.. my “friends”.. my… family…” He said the word ‘friends’ as if it was unfitting. They were all fake, they had all betrayed him and put him in here.

 

The other man felt sympathy. “And do you believe them?”

 

Arthur's head snapped up in anger. “No! Of course not!” 

 

There was a pause.

 

Arthur took in the man before him. He had long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and fair skin. If it weren’t for the stubble on his face he almost could’ve passed for a woman. The most obvious feature though… were his eyes. Arthur flinched a bit at those piercing blue eyes, looking right into his. Arthur felt as if his very pride was wounded, he knew he looked pathetic. Worse than that, he couldn’t look away.

 

“Francis Bonnefoy. It’s nice to meet you.” The man said.

 

Arthur blinked his deep green eyes and seemed to break out of a trance. Francis smiled gently as a stuttered apology followed.

 

“Pardon me for asking, Arthur… but are you from Britain?”

 

Arthur frowned a bit before he spoke. “London. I’m sorry… have we met before?”

 

“No.. I just think it’s funny.. the circumstances of our meeting that is. I’m from Paris, you are from London and yet we meet here in America.” Arthur gave a blank stare as if to say _Yes, what’s your point._ “Oh never mind it's silly…”

 

Arthur looked irritated to say the least. “You can’t start saying something as if it’s interesting and then say ‘never mind’! It’s very rude of you.” He frowned again. The patient was obviously bad tempered but he seemed fine otherwise. Francis made a mental note to be careful with his phrasing in the future.

 

“It’s just that my mother used to tell me that all Englishmen were mad, but I insisted that they seemed nice. Every year I hoped she’d take me to see London and she never did. You’re the only English patient here as far as I know and I’ve been assigned to take care of you. I just thought that it was ironic.” Francis chuckled, entertained by his own story. His constant smile warming at the memories.

 

Arthur seemed unamused. He mumbled something under his breath. Francis didn’t hear him and didn’t seem to care either way. 

 

Francis set down the clipboard and then looked back up at him. “Arthur.. -may i call you arthur?- i want you to know that I am here working for you and only you. We have personalized care for you because we’re going only off of what those who know you say. I not only will be working as a therapist of sorts, but I am a nurse and I have basic knowledge of your human rights as well as your rights as a citizen. It is my job to protect those rights, understood? No one will hurt you if I can help it. You don’t have to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with. I want you to think of me as a friend rather than someone who wants to betray you and lock you up forever. I want to help you.”

 

Arthur held his gaze warily for a long moment and then sighed. “Very well… Francis was it? I’ll try to trust you, at least for now. I do want to trust _someone_.” He looked down at the glass of water again, tapping it’s side to create small ripples. He could tell he was going to be here for a long while, but maybe this man could make it more tolerable.

 

“Stay awhile won’t you? It’s lonely in here..”


	2. Looking Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur looks back a little bit into his dark past, a past he's never told anyone about.

It had been 13 days, 312 hours, or nearly 18,720 minutes since Arthur had last spoken to anyone from outside the asylum. In other words, since he'd been admitted. Not that he was counting.

All this time to himself, gave Arthur a chance to think on his sins. Instead, he thought mostly of his family. He thought mostly of his childhood. He wondered how long it would be before someone decided to check in on him. He figured it could be at least a year before his brother Allistor decided he might be dead, sane, or downright dangerous and wanted to phone in for confirmation. Honestly he was only surprised by his friends from work turning on him. His family had always considered him mad and a disgrace to the family name in general. First offense, he continued to talk to walls past the age of 10. Second, he came out as gay over Christmas dinner when he was 14. And last, he moved to America. Despite Arthur's brothers being awful bigots for as long as he'd known them, they never failed to surprise him. Apparently migrating to the states was his worst offense yet.

 _There is a word for that_ , he thought bitterly. _Rebel._ Fuzzy memories of his hypocritical teen brother trying to escape his responsibility for three younger brothers and a sister. At least their half sister had somewhere to go when the boys' parents died. She'd run off to live with an aunt who still remembered she existed, not bothering to mention she had siblings. Allistor thought it might be better that way, getting to drink and bring home girls as much as he wanted. He worked enough to put some food on the table when he remembered to and he sometimes enforced that Seamus and Arthur go to school. Dylan, the second oldest, dropped out just before graduating and started working too, but he hogged the money to himself. Once Arthur asked Dylan what he saved the money for and Dylan could only sigh heavily and look to the window. He pointed to the grimy streets outside their crappy apartment and muttered "escape." At this new revelation that Dylan might leave him there, Arthur had broken down crying, tugging on his brother's clothes. "No-no-no-no, you can't leave me here with him - _please_ Dylan- you _can't_!" But in about 6 months time Dylan was gone with some girlfriend, making his way through Wales. He wrote Arthur sometimes, but that was it after that, always so disconnected in the tone of his letters.

Allistor got worse at that point, dressing in all black and staying out later into the night. Arthur would sleep on the roof even in the rain, hiding from drunken bursts of rage that trashed the house. He would be sung to sleep with a familiar lullaby every night. His own gentle humming and distant accusations from inside, "You killed them! You killed them before the accident, Arthur, and you know it! They never wanted another son! Dad sacrificed everything so your slimy little fetus could enter the world and _here it is_! Are you happy, Arthur? Are you happy?"

The sound of a door creak shook him from his melancholy rumination. No, he wasn't happy. He smiled. But just maybe, maybe he wasn't sane either. Looking into his past, insanity would certainly be an expected symptom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is short, it's a miracle I wrote it at all! I do want to get this fic start up again and I apologize in advance if the story ends up taking some unexpected twists and turns as well as if the characters seem a bit OC-ish. That would be because they are. Thank you for reading!


	3. The Incident at Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Where do I begin?" Arthur's half lidded eyes closed, feeling heavy.
> 
> "Wherever you'd like."

Arthur found himself staring at the blank wall, lying on his side. He had a bed, but he found that the floor was cooler. The numbing sensation made him feel how warm his body was on the inside. Besides, he found out if he got a cold, he wouldn't have to participate in group activities. He didn't get too lonely, Francis made sure of that. Francis started bringing him gifts. First, he started making him tea instead of just the water with his meals. After that it was forms of harmless entertainment. A few books. Shakespeare's sonnets and Robert Frost. Arthur would read them aloud to himself when he couldn't sleep. Whenever he thought about the outside world, he missed the same things. He missed things he hadn't thought about. People always worry about staying in any form of hospital and eating bland food day after day, or not getting enough sunlight. Arthur found that he missed music. He would hum to himself, but it wasn't the same. He missed his records and the convenience of his little outdated mp3 player. He missed the sound of Paul McCartney's voice, as insignificant as that may seem. To keep himself from getting too existential, he'd think of happy memories. Sometimes they brought up unhappy memories, but he was always willing to take that risk.

He remembered the first record he'd ever gotten when he was 15 years old. It had been a 45 rpm single, Norwegian Wood. He kept it for years. He'd played side B over again so many times this August, he could still hear the song in detail, burned into his memory. It was the end of October now. Fuzzy memories of spending Sunday mornings in bed that summer flooded through him. He could almost pretend he was there. Warm hands combed through his hair, sweet nothings whispered into his ears. He heard shuffling outside his door and his memory suddenly turned sour. He remembered the hands steadily becoming rougher with him. He remembered the love of his life smashing his favorite record in a witless rage. He remembered screaming in his face. September had been particularly cold this year. These were the events leading up to the incident at work. He'd been making progress with the creatures who visited him. He'd been drinking more, yes, but he'd been making sense of himself. After freeing himself from a toxic relationship, the voices had gotten louder and more frequent. He'd started sleeping more in September. Every morning for years he'd risen on time and dragged himself to work successfully. Every morning for years he'd gotten all of his work done without many invisible visitors outside of his home. It was as if the elevator to his office served as a safe haven. The stresses of work kept him busy and his mind quiet.

Until September.

September came around and he slept alone. Woke alone. Ate alone. Dressed alone. Worked alone. So it appeared. With the absence of his lover, came an increase in hallucinations. The fairies would nag him and nag him. They'd pull at his clothing and tell him, "call him... call him." But he knew he couldn't. So he didn't.

"This isn't your fault." His friend Alice had told him. "You cannot allow him to lure you back. You did the right thing in leaving. Remember why you left. Just remember that." He'd winced, nodding his head.

"I know. I know all that. Thanks, Alice."

"You're going to be okay." She'd told him. She meant well, really. But she'd had no idea what was going on his head.

 

* * *

 

 

Francis stepped into the room, setting down a pot of tea. "Arthur? Are you ready to talk? If this is a bad time, I can come back." Arthur hadn't realized he was crying until that point. He wiped his eyes and sat up, turning to face his visitor. His chest shuddered slightly and he breathed out a little bit of air. "N-no... Stay." They sat in silence for a few minutes and Arthur was the first to speak, sitting on his bed.

"I'm ready to talk about what happened."

"Good, that's good." Francis' voice was gentle.

"Where do I begin?" Arthur's half lidded eyes closed, feeling heavy.

"Wherever you'd like."

"It was a week after he left."

...

"After who left, Arthur?"

"Erm.. my.. partner."

"Ah. Go on?"

 

* * *

 

 

At work on a Tuesday, Arthur knew he shouldn't be at work. Emotional, heartbroken, it was not the right environment for him at the time. He was in the break room when it happened. He'd been whispering to Mint Bunny, telling her to leave him be. She'd started showing up at work that week. She kept describing how much happier he was before. She would insist he should move on, find someone new. It was too painful. He would try to ignore her as best as he could, but after a few hours of it, he'd lost his temper. Trying to make a cup of tea, he suddenly snapped. Most of the office gathered outside the breakroom. They could hear yelling and at first assumed he was on the phone with someone. Alice called the manager in and said she would deal with it. They waited awhile, but he never came out. An hour went by and he was still yelling. It sounded like he was trashing the place. It was there they found him, yelling at thin air, throwing office supplies into the corner of the room. Mid anxiety attack, shaking and shaking and shaking. It was there they found him. It wasn't much longer after that he ended up in the mad house, with Francis.

 

He finished his story and tried to meet Francis' eyes, pleading with him.

"Listen to me. I'm pretty messed up. I've seen some shit. I'm not happy... I know I'm not happy. But I'm not insane. You have got to get me out of here. I don't belong in a place like this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive! I haven't written anything hetalia related in a very long time, I haven't written much fiction, period. But, I was encouraged to continue this one by some readers and I'm happy I did. More will come, even if it is slowly. Certainly updates will be more often than they have been.
> 
> Soon we'll get to see what Francis' life is like and who the hurtful ex was.


End file.
